


practice

by tatooinesun



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, SoMa Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooinesun/pseuds/tatooinesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maka wants everything for their wedding to be perfect, including and most especially their first kiss as husband and wife. Soul honestly doesn’t know why they don’t just elope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	practice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for soma week 2016 day 1: types of kisses

Their apartment has been in complete disarray for a month now. Dress patterns, table designs and all manner of post-it notes line their walls and floors. Scraps of notebook paper stick magneted to their fridge in a disorganized array ranging from sloppy to-do-lists to scribbled seating arrangements and Soul had no idea so much strategic groundwork went into a wedding. It makes his head spin and he’s more than glad to fade into the background and let Maka take the reigns when friends and family pop in hourly to collaborate over ridiculously mundane stuff like what color the punch should be.

Maka has always been a micromanager and she enjoys every bit of it, probably a little too much. The upcoming event has completely absorbed her every waking thought and he has to drag her to bed most nights so she doesn’t fall asleep on top of carefully calligraphed invitations and bridal magazines. She’d spent years bashing the social construct of marriage and had really held it with no great sanctity until now but she’s stubborn to the point of obstinacy and so if they were going to do this thing, they were going to do it right despite his frequent protests that eloping would be so much simpler. A couple of quick I-do’s, a few signatures and bam, they could skip all the fanfare and get straight to business. No constant planning, no overbearing family members, just him, Maka and a king sized bed for however long they could request leave from their kishin hunting duties. But he knows how much this means to her and so he only grumbles a little when she interrogates him over flower arrangements or he has to go in for drawn out uncomfortable suit fittings.

The kissing practice he hadn’t been expecting but honestly nothing surprises him at this stage in the planning process.

“This is stupid,” he mutters and it’s the first real complaining he’s ever voiced in regards to their pending nuptials. He’s kissed her a million times before, they’re pretty decent at it at this point. He doesn’t see why a peck at the altar is so detrimental to perfection.

Maka crosses her arms across her duck printed pajamas and yet manages to look intimidating all the same. She’s cornered him in the kitchen and the rumbling dishwasher and spilled coffee stains don’t provide them with the most romantic ambiance and he hasn’t shaved yet or even poured himself a bowl of cereal but she is so insistent on having this impromptu kissing lesson _now_.

Her bare foot taps impatiently on the linoleum floor and he’s hiding behind shelter that is the half open fridge door and really the whole scene would be comical if not for the death glare she’s shooting his way. “Just do it. And try to show a little restraint Soul, my Grandparents will be there.”

“Restraint?”

Her face flushes and he’s almost satisfied by the reaction. “You know what I mean” she grumbles. He does, but it’s nice to feign ignorance if only to get a reaction out of his meister; an old game he’s been playing since they were kids.    

He closes the refrigerator and leans his back against the cool metal in a vain attempt to appear flippant. “I don’t wanna kiss you if you’re mad at me.”

“I am _not_ mad at you.” He’s spent the better part of a decade practically glued to her hip so he knows well enough that she is so fucking lying. His meister’s voice goes shrill as it always does when she’s emotional and she sputters for breath between words like she’s momentarily lost the ability to breathe. It’s been her tell for years now and it’s usually his cue to duck and cover from a wayward flying book but she doesn’t look armed and he doesn’t see any point in denying her insistent request.

He sighs heavily and turns his body to face hers, ignoring the small noise of triumph in the back of her throat. “If I do this can I go back to making my breakfast?”

“Yes. Probably.”

He doesn’t know why he’s been protesting this so fervently - kissing Maka is probably one of his favorite things to do in the world. But the stubble on his unshaven chin is scratchy and maybe he’s a little self conscious about how his breath smells this early in the morning so the peck he gives to the corner of her mouth is quick and chaste and he’s turning back to the refrigerator before she even has a chance to recover. It’s what their first kiss was like - hesitant and questioning and he was so very full of relief when she tugged his retreating shoulder afterwards to pull him back for more. It’s the type of kiss he gives her when they’re in a rush or she’s in need of reassurance and yet it’s far too fleeting. “There.”

He knows her eyes roll to the ceiling without sparing her a glance. “Really?”

The guilt he has at being so terse is hidden easily behind a sleepy yawn and offhanded shrug of his shoulders. “What? I kissed you.”

Her hands follow her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “This is our wedding, not a first communion. Can’t you put in a little more...enthusiasm?”  

There’s no time for further retort to bubble from her lips because he dips down again without prelude and brushes his mouth against hers, softly and slowly, cupping his hands around her cheeks and tasting fresh toothpaste on her cool breath. It’s a kiss of apology, of resigned purpose and satisfaction, utilized between early morning sheets or to defuse tension spurred by an argument - sleepy and sloppy and agonizingly unhurried. It’s strange to imagine that an audience would witness this, hard to bring to fruition really as the kiss is so quiet and intimate and doesn’t really exist to him outside the realm of their apartment. His thumbs trace circles against her skin and her lips part in what he expects is a granted entree for his tongue but when he feels her exhale sharply against his mouth he realizes she’s _laughing_.  

He pulls away with a snort and watches as she wipes at her face with her palm. “You ruined it,” he accuses, bringing his hands to rest upon her shoulders.   

“I can’t help it. Your chin tickles.”

That’s all the incentive he needs to pull her forward and rub his bristled jaw across her cheek. She swipes at him, struggling for release but she’s laughing too hard to put up much of a fight - an advantage on his part because she’d win the tussle under normal circumstances. “Stop! Agh - _Soul_.”

“Wouldn’t be so scruffy if you’d given me time to shave,” he deadpans.    

Her bottom lip pokes out stubbornly, red and swollen from the weight of his lips. “Fine. Just kiss me again.”

There’s no hesitation in this kiss. It’s nothing put pure unbridled ferocity, the kind he uses to prove a point or convey that persistent need that likes to sit in his chest, a plea of come back to bed, mouth retreating momentarily only to delve back in with more teeth than lips. He doesn’t go too wild. He figures weddings have to err on the side of PG but it’s about the most passionate thing he can muster given the circumstances and yet when he pulls away she still doesn’t seem satisfied.

“Again.”

Her eyes are lidded and she looks up at him from under her lashes and he’s starting to question if her demand for more really has anything to do with his lack of fervor but he’s more than happy to comply.This time she doesn’t wait for him to initiate the lock of their lips. She grips the front of his shirt and tugs him down to her mouth with a strength she possesses in the heat of battle. Their noses bump clumsily but there’s no time for fumbling or awkward laughter because her tongue parts his lips and stifles the chuckle rising in his throat, swallowing it and practically siphoning the air from his lungs. He gasps at the intensity, stumbling backwards until his thighs hit the counter with a dull thud. He knows this kiss intimately. He’s learned every inch of it in the vacant silence after a battle, in the humid heat of their bed as she writhes beneath him and he recites the motions back at her once he gathers what’s left of his composure.

His hands have recovered from their outstretch of surprisal and now curl low around her hips until she’s supporting her weight against him entirely and he takes advantage of this to rotate them until their positions are switched. Her lanky legs snake around his waist and her pajamas are sheer enough that he can feel smooth skin and muscles constricting him against her. She scoots until she’s perched comfortably atop the counter and from this angle he has rare leverage on her lips that he doesn’t get when he’s towering above her. He’d teased her mercilessly when he’d shot up a few years into their adolescence while she maintained her petite stature and had been on the end of many a Maka Chop for it. It’d come back to bite him when he realized just how hard it was to capture her lips in his when they were somewhere around the level of his sternum. They make do though and she compensates for her lack of height by standing on her toes or his feet or his personal favorite, straddled atop his lap.

Their lips slow to a steady, agonizing pace and they part several heated minutes later gasping for breath. He should be used to it by now but he always feels a tad sheepish in the aftermath of sporadic passion such as this and the stiff chuckle he lets loose is tinged slightly with nerves. Maka senses his uneasiness beit through visage of his soul or merely because she just knows him so damn well and pulls him to rest her forehead against his lips. Tawny bangs obstruct direct contact with her skin and so he brushes them away with his palm before nuzzling a sigh against her and they stay like that in vacant silence that’s only punctuated by their breathing. When he finally remembers how to speak his voice is hoarse and raspy and he wonders if his words are coherent to her at all. “What about that?”

She kicks him playfully with the bare heel of her foot and he winces in feigned pain. “You absolutely cannot do that in front of a crowd of our closest family and friends.” Grinning she hops off the counter and reaches up to thread her fingers in his hair. She’d quickly discovered his weakness for physical affection early on in their relationship and liked to take full advantage of it whether that translated to her feet across spread his lap as she read or a massage of his scalp as she’s doing now. It’s all he can do to swallow the whimper in his throat. This woman could reduce a solemn guy like him to a puddle of jelly and it was fucking ridiculous. Her voice is light in his ear, a whisper of air that grazes off his cheek and the whimper he’s trying to repress is forgone in favor of a shiver down his spine. “None of those work. You’re really terrible at this.”

He tries to grin cheekily but her proximity and the touch of her finger in his hair has him in a state where his brain to action ratio is nonexistent. “You know how much I hate studying,” is what he manages.  

She hums her concurrence. “I think we’d better get all of those kisses out of our systems now. Just to be safe.”

And they waste no time in picking up where they left off.


End file.
